I think I'm corrupting the neighbors.

Well, the delivery guy from the lumberyard just left, having unloaded all the framing lumber, fasteners and insulation for Landlady's house. D came over to help me get things squared away. The fellow who delivered the roof trusses hadn't had a way to lay them down flat, and none of us were looking forward to what was going to happen when we cut the straps holding them together. So D suggested that we get the lumberyard guy to use his forklift and help us lay them down. Seemed like a good plan to me.

"And if he won't," D said, "We can just shoot him."

I looked at him askance. "Uh, that seems kinda extreme."

It turns out he was just trying to get me to notice his new toy. "Hey!" I said, "I didn't know you had an automatic."

Now, D is an retired man, a little older than me. Unlike me, he's not a burnout survivalist wacko, and he normally affects cowboy styles. I knew he had a pistol, but that's a revolver and in the years I've known him I've only seen him wear it once. He doesn't normally go armed.

But now he's traded in the cowboy pistol and leather for a nylon holster with a brand-new plastic-framed wonder-nine. Only time will tell if he'll get into the habit of carrying it, though. When he took it out to show me, he was distressed that it was already getting dusty. It's been blowing hard since morning, and it's a dirty day.

"Yeah," I said, "They do that. You just gotta clean'em in the evening."